


Sounds Like a Good Excuse for Coming Home

by OrdinaryVegan



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Even More Mild Violence, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Some angst, Tumblr Prompt, but also fluff, i am complex okay, mild panic attack, or maybe just indecisive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10081505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrdinaryVegan/pseuds/OrdinaryVegan
Summary: Andrew is stressed, and Neil is problematic. Long-distance can be rather inconvenient, especially when your not-boyfriend is a murder magnet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> prompt by anon: Hi! I love your writing! Can you write an Andriel fic where someone (nathan's men, burglar, you decide!) breaks into Neil's apartment while he's face timing with Andrew and Andrew is all worried and stuff over the phone :)

"And if I move Davis to the left, then Salazar has way too much ground to cover. But if I don't, then he'll have to keep up with Rhodes, and we all know he can't handle her..." Neil is going round and round with these ideas for new plays, mostly to himself. Andrew flicks his eyes away from the zucchini he is currently dicing to look at Neil on his computer screen, scribbling away in his notebook approximately 1,226 miles away. 

He watches Neil stop writing. Tilt his head to left. Sigh. And draw a giant X over everything he's been working on for the past hour and a half. 

Andrew rolls his eyes and shakes his head, though he really doesn't know why he is surprised. Neil's new position as the leading striker on the Baton Rouge Pirates includes more responsibilities than he had on his first pro team. Neil will undoubtedly be up for several hours working on this one play, and Andrew will be a silent spectator, contributing the occasional snarky comment when asked for his opinion.

Finished with the zucchini, Andrew adds it in with the rest of the vegetables and tosses them into the pan with his already sizzling potatoes. He moves to the sink to rinse the knife he was using and return it to the knife block on the counter, a house-warming gift from Bee. 

Neil is still thinking out loud, going on about Davis's apparent lack of speed and general know-how. Truthfully, Andrew could not care less about any of it. But he finds that just the even sound of Neil's voice makes him feel more relaxed, a little less on edge than usual. Even if he is just droning on about Exy, it's almost like they aren't on different sides of the country. They FaceTime at least twice a week, and it brings Andrew much more comfort than he will ever be willing to admit. He likes Denver, but not as much as he hates Neil.

"Ugh! I'm done. I'm so done. If I look at this for another second, I'll light it on fire," comes Neil's exasperated complaint. Andrew is tending to his vegetables, but he can hear the shuffling of paper and what sounds like a pen hitting a wall.

"Luckily for you, I disabled your fire alarm," Andrew says, purposefully ignoring Neil's tantrum.

Andrew turns in time to witness Neil's dramatic sigh, complete with his head rather forcefully meeting his folded arms on the table. Andrew rolls his eyes, yet again, and turns the stove off before plating his masterpiece. He walks over to where his laptop is sitting on the counter and picks it up, taking Neil with him to the table. Neil must notice all the noise because he finally sits back up and rests his chin in his hand. 

They look at each other for a moment before Andrew drags his gaze away and settles his attention on something else, anything else. This is his least favorite part. The way they can see and hear each other, almost feel like they're together, but then he can't even make actual eye contact with Neil. It's trivial, really. It shouldn't bother him this much, but it does. The awkward cycle of looking at Neil, then looking at the tiny screen in the corner housing his own reflection, then attempting to look into the camera like maybe Neil will understand what Andrew won't say. 

"Staring," Andrew says, mainly as a distraction from these unwelcome thoughts.

"Uh-huh," Neil snorts in response, like he can see right through Andrew. He probably can. 

Andrew looks back to see Neil look to his right and let a small smile creep onto his face. He vanishes from view for about thirty seconds, then reappears with an armful of Sir Fat Cat McCatterson. 

"Oh look. It's still alive. Joy."

Neil laughs. "Shut up, you adore him and you know it." 

"I hate him slightly less than I hate most other things."

Neil tosses Andrew a triumphant smile. "Exactly."

Andrew offers only a noncommittal grunt in return. 

"So what should we do when I'm off next week? I bought my ticket already, by the way. I get in at 9:45 Sunday night."

"We could drive to the top of Mount Evans, and I could leave you there," Andrew replies.

"Finally find a decent place to hide my body? I'm actually a little disappointed. You should at least cross state lines, getting rid of me a mere 65 miles away is too suspicious. You know they always suspect the boyfriend first." 

Andrew lets the term slide in favor of silently flipping Neil off. 

Neil's ensuing laughter is cut short when he turns his head sharply to the left, toward his front door.

"What?" Andrew asks.

Neil is quiet for several seconds, much too long for Andrew's liking. 

"I think someone just picked my lock."

"Don't you have a deadbolt?"

"Yeah...but it may or may not be unlocked right now."

"Neil, what the fuck—" he breaks off when he sees the doorknob begin to turn.

"Andrew..." Neil is staring at the door like he expects it to come to life.

"Neil. Move."

He does. Andrew watches on as Neil makes for the knife in his matching knife block, while at the same time, the door slowly begins to open. Andrew has never felt so helpless.

\---

Neil doesn't know how long he has been looking down at the man lying on his apartment floor. His knuckles are screaming in protest from his still-firm grip on the knife. He forces himself to pry his fingers away from the hilt, the weapon dropping to floor with a deafening clatter. He is vaguely aware that he may have fatally wounded this man, an old loyalist from his father's glory days. 

" _Neil_ ," he hears from somewhere behind him, a faraway sound that barely makes it through the haze. 

He slowly turns around. Sees the computer on his kitchen table. Realizes that Andrew is still there. He witnessed everything.

"Neil," he says again. Andrew is looking at him; an apathetic mask paints his features. "Call 911." 

A simple command. Neil can do that, he thinks. He locates his phone on the counter. Dials the number. He notices that he hasn't started panicking yet. That's odd. Why isn't he panicking?

A calm voice asks him what his emergency is. But Neil can't answer. His breathing is suddenly so loud that he can't hear his own thoughts, his chest is constricting around his lungs, too tight, too tight. He drops the phone as the voice on the other end tells him to calm down. He is on his knees, the hardwood cold and unforgiving beneath him.

"Neil. Neil. Goddammit! Stop that!" 

The sudden, rare show of anger in Andrew's voice distracts Neil long enough for a gulp of air to make it past his throat. He looks right, left, right again, waiting for the next threat to make itself known.

"Hey," comes Andrew's voice, more level now. "You're in your shitty apartment in Louisiana. Your name is Neil Josten, and that asshole on the floor can't hurt you anymore."

Neil nods, his breath finally, thankfully, beginning to even out. Several minutes pass in silence while Neil comes back to himself. He finally looks up at Andrew, making not-eye contact across the distance between them. 

"Staring," Neil's voice cracks on his attempted joke. 

Andrew levels him with an unimpressed look, and Neil watches as his eyes dart to the side of the screen, looking at something over Neil's shoulder. 

A hard knock comes from his front door, followed by a loud, "Police." 

Neil turns back to Andrew, a defeated set to his shoulders and a grim look on his face. 

"I'm okay," he whispers, before closing his laptop and facing the policemen, now looking back and forth between him and the man on the floor.

\---

Andrew arrives at Baton Rouge Metropolitan Airport four hours later and grabs a taxi to the police station. He spots Neil as soon as he steps through the door, hunched over in a chair on the far side of the room, head in his hands. He weaves his way through the desks until he is standing in front of Neil.

Neil looks up, sensing the presence of someone standing a little too close to him. Once his recognition clicks into place, he breathes out a relieved, "Andrew," and lets his head fall back into his hands.

Andrew sits down beside him. "Is he dead?" He asks.

"No," Neil says. "He pulled through," the bitterness in his voice making itself well known. Neil scrubs his face with his hands before sitting up and looking back to Andrew. He looks exhausted. "I'm free to go. I'm just waiting for them to bring me more paperwork to sign."

"Okay," Andrew says. "Yes or no?"

"Yes," Neil answers without hesitation, relief coloring the affirmation.

Andrew slides his hand around the back of Neil's neck and pulls his head onto his shoulder. Neil lets out a shuddering breath, leaning into Andrew as he reaches out for Andrew's free hand. 

"Come to Denver," Andrew says, so low that Neil might not have even heard.

"I am. I told you I bought my ticket already."

Andrew levels him with a glare that asks just how thick Neil can be. "That's not what I meant."

Neil looks up at him questioningly for a moment before he says, "Oh. _Oh_." And he finally catches on. A miracle.

A few more moments pass in silence before Andrew finds himself breaking it. "The Suns are better than the Pirates, anyway. Davis is a lost cause, and you know it."

Neil stares at him with _that look_ on his face. Like Andrew hung the moon, the stars, and the universe itself. Andrew thinks that he should know better by now.

"Are you doing this just because you miss Sir?" Neil asks, mischief made clear by his slight smirk.

"Obviously," Andrew says, tightening his hold on Neil's hand.

Neil's smirk transforms into a full-blown smile, and Andrew hates the way his heart rate speeds up without his permission. Neil raises their hands and places a kiss to Andrew's knuckles.

"Yes," Neil says, and Andrew feels like he can breathe again for the first time since Neil turned away from him in fear all those hours ago. "Always yes."

Neil pulls back to look at him. Andrew can finally look into the sea of icy blue, can make out the flecks of grey in their midst. He thinks of waking up every day to proper eye contact as Neil's lips meet his.

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever be able to write angst without fluff? probably not. *finger guns*
> 
> thank you several thousand times for reading! i am so very appreciative of you fellow andreil lovers. title from "Your Song" by Mayday Parade.
> 
> come scream with me on tumblr @theordinaryvegan


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